


Ordinary Man

by waroftheposes



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: M/M, Omar centric, Tumblr Prompt, slight fear of homophobia but no actual homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 03:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20789489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waroftheposes/pseuds/waroftheposes
Summary: Omar doesn't want to return to Ander's house when Rebe's Halloween party comes to an end. He doesn't think he can really stomach going back there after the way Ander treated him.But what to do instead? It's not like Omar has anywhere else to go...--(a post episode 5 reaction fic)





	Ordinary Man

**Author's Note:**

> the tumblr prompt: _if you feel like writing it, could you do a one shot where we see what happened after the halloween party? i cant imagine omar just going to anders house after what he listened he probably was so hurt :( and i can feel ander would be so confused if he didnt see omar there or something_
> 
> \--
> 
> broke with my Spanish song lyrics tradition because Mika works better here.

After Lu has left him so that she can hang out with her brother, Omar walks around Rebe’s house aimlessly, smiling and nodding at random people and avoiding anyone he knows. Before he saw Lu, he was planning to leave, but something has shifted inside him. He doesn’t want to go back to Ander’s house, not after he heard Ander complaining to Guzman. Also, right now, he’s not sure where Ander has gone and he doesn’t really want to find him. The fact that Ander hated their Halloween costume so much that he complained about it to Guzman feels like a betrayal, one Omar can’t get over.

Omar also can’t help blaming himself for what happened. If he hadn’t dressed up as Frank-N-Furter, if he hadn’t encouraged Ander to dress up as the Creature, then maybe Ander would have had a better night. Maybe the two of them would have had a better night. As soon as he begins blaming himself, as soon as his mind begins to wander toward the possibility that he’s responsible for this fiasco, Omar stops himself. He knows that he hasn’t done anything wrong, that Ander’s response to him was way out of line, but he can’t figure out what caused Ander to behave so terribly.

Because it’s not just that Ander hated their costume. Ander’s been _weird_ since Omar moved into his house. He’s been distant, he’s barely ever home, he barely speaks to Omar. He does like to hold on to Omar as he sleeps, and that’s a bit of a relief. But the lack of communication is jarring to Omar, who’s used to being the recipient of pretty much all of Ander’s thoughts and feelings.

Omar doesn’t know what’s going on with Ander right now, so he thinks that it must be him who is causing Ander grief. Ander will barely talk to him about what’s wrong, and without any other leads, what else is Omar supposed to think? Lately Ander is annoyed by everything Omar does, from his clothes to his conversation. Lu’s probably right, he shouldn’t love someone who makes him feel ordinary. Hell, he shouldn’t be with someone who makes him feel _this terrible_ over a goddamn costume.

But the thought of not being with Ander, the thought of breaking up with him makes Omar short of breath, makes his heart beat faster in his chest and his eyes burn with about-to-escape tears.

He _can’t_ break up with Ander. He loves the bastard too much. All he can do is find a job, save up money, and try to prepare himself for the inevitable.

When Ander finally has had enough of pretending like Omar doesn’t annoy him and breaks up with him…

But right now the most pressing issue in Omar’s life is finding a place to crash for the night. He isn’t going back to Ander’s, he’s got enough dignity to feel disgusted when he thinks about going back there after the way Ander treated him. He knows he can’t stay with Samuel, what with Nano being back, and really who else does Omar have to crash with?

Omar is deep in thought, trying to decide on a course of action when he runs bodily into Rebe. For a moment he doesn’t recognize her. When he’d seen her earlier, she’d been wearing a princess dress.

Now she’s dressed like Uma Thurman in _Kill Bill_ and she looks like a completely different person, less wound up, more comfortable. Omar catches her attention by snapping his fingers at her. He smiles when she looks up.

“You changed!”

She shrugs, though she’s avoiding his eyes, “Yeah, figured it was time to let myself do what I want.”

Omar nods in agreement. “It’s nice.”

He leaves her after that, finding a quiet place to sit down and trying to figure out where to spend the night. He doesn’t feel the passage of time, sitting in a corner on his phone and going through his list of friends for a name he trusts. Omar only figures out that the party is over when he notices that the music has stopped.

He goes in search of Rebe then, figuring it’s time for him to leave, still unsure where he’ll end up.

It takes him some time to find her. He checks the main hall, then her bedroom. In the end, she’s sitting by the pool, her pants rolled up, her feet splashing, eyes idling on a broken bottle of alcohol. She looks up when she hears him approach and pats the space besides her, motioning for him to sit down.

Omar sits down next to her, cross legged. “Didn’t realize the party was over.”

“Didn’t realize you were still here.” She shrugs. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

It’s Omar’s turn to shrug. “Who fucking knows.”

She turns toward him, looking at him with concern in her eyes, “What’s up, dude? Everything ok with you and pretty boy?”

Omar shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. He was acting strange all night.” Omar doesn’t mention that Ander has been acting strange since he moved in to Ander’s house. “He hated his costume but he put it on anyways. Then he just disappeared without telling me and I found him complaining about it to Guzman. I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into him, he never acted like this before...” Omar pauses, trying to decide whether he should tell Rebe more. “I’m afraid it’s me.”

Rebe raises a hand and rubs Omar’s back. “It’s not you,” she says. “You’re amazing. If he has a problem, then it’s him.”

Omar almost laughs. That’s exactly what Lucretia had said to him. “What about you?” He asks. What he actually wants is to ask her if he can stay over, but he’s afraid of doing that, of imposing. It’s better to change the subject.

“What about me?” Rebe asks.

“Why did you wear that dress if you didn’t want to?”

Rebe brings her left hand to her mouth, biting her thumbnail and avoiding Omar’s eyes. “My mom convinced me it was a good idea.”

“Your mom?” Omar asks, amazed. “You don’t strike me as the type of person who listens to her mom.”

Rebe is still decidedly avoiding Omar’s gaze. “She said…” she stops herself, and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter what she said. It wasn’t me, the dress. That’s why I changed.”

Omar gets it and he tells her so.

“Is the drag thing you?” Rebe asks him.

Omar has to think about that question. He’s never been allowed to wear something like this, something wild and out there and so decidedly _not straight_. He’s never been allowed to experiment with his sexuality, never even thought he’d be able to with his parents’ strict rules. When he was younger he would torrent movies with gay cult followings, watch them when everyone was asleep, and delete them before going to bed. He used to sit in the store and daydream about Dr. Frank-N-Furter, daydream about what it would be like to be free to dress like that, to act like that one day.

Is the costume him? Omar is not sure. All he knows is that it feels good to try this on. The costume fits him better than any of his old clothes did.

“I don’t know if it’s me,” he tells Rebe finally. “But it doesn’t feel wrong either, does that make sense?”

Rebe nods, “A little.”

They sit by the pool in silence, Omar reflecting on his choices, the freedom he finally possesses, Ander’s objections. He’s not sure what Rebe is thinking about. After a few moments, Omar sighs, standing up.

“Well, I better go.”

Rebe looks up. “Are you going back to your boyfriend’s house?”

“I don’t know,” Omar says. “I don’t want to.”

“Stay here,” Rebe offers.

“Thank you,” Omar responds. She has gotten rid of his biggest worry for the night with two simple words, but Omar doesn’t think he can stay. He needs time to be alone, to think. “But I think I need to get my head on straight. I’ll come back, if I need to.”

She smiles at him. “The passcode for the gate is 0708. It’s my dad’s birthday.”

“Thanks.”

Omar leaves, taking off his heels as he walks toward the bus stop. He’s not sure which bus he’ll take, or where he’ll go, but he goes towards the stop anyway. The electronic sign at the stop says that the next bus won’t arrive for another twenty minutes. Omar sits on the bench, taking out his phone and trying to busy himself on the internet.

But it’s dark, the street is empty, and he’s alone and in drag. Looking at the deserted street, hearing the cicadas scream, Omar begins to feel afraid despite himself. When he’d chosen to dress up, he’d been traveling with Ander and he’d felt safe; he hadn’t thought that at any point during the night, he’d be by himself. Now though, he’s alone at a bus stop holding heels and wearing make up.

Omar knows what generally happens to people who are alone and in drag at night.

As soon as he thinks of the worst case scenario, as soon as he begins to feel afraid, as if in direct response to his fear, Omar hears footsteps. He doesn’t dare look up, staring down at his phone, clutching it almost painfully, as the footsteps grow louder and louder.

They stop suddenly, and someone takes a seat next to him. Omar breaths as quietly as he can and continues staring at his phone, thinking that if he doesn’t look at the person, maybe the person will ignore him. The two of them will sit in silence until the bus arrives and pretend the other doesn’t exist until it is time for them to go their separate ways.

No one gets hurt. No one calls Omar any slurs. No one bleeds.

Yeah… No such luck.

“Hey,” the man says, mere seconds after sitting down.

Omar finally looks up at the stranger’s voice and almost drops his phone. There is only one adjective to describe the man: _large_. He’s tall, towering over Omar by at least a head and shoulder even sitting down. The man is also built, his muscles visible even under his jacket.

Omar is not afraid. He’s not, he’s not, _he’s not!_

“Hi,” he finally manages to say, way too aware of the feel of the lipstick against his lips and the eyeshadow on his eyelids.

The man looks him up and down once, then twice, then a small smile breaks over his face. “Rocky Horror?” he asks.

Omar’s eyes widen as the tension and fear suddenly release him and relief floods his body. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, voice shaking. “I was at a costume party.”

The stranger looks far less threatening now, wearing a smile and a look of approval. “It used to be one of my favorite movies when I was your age,” he says, then pauses, gaze fixed on Omar’s face, eyes narrowed with a question. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Oh,” the man says leaning back, sheepish. “Then when I was a bit older than you. The music is amazing and really everyone should dress up as a Rocky Horror character at least once in their life. But I think… and look… don’t take offense. You shouldn’t be out by yourself, son. It’s not safe, not with you dressed like that.”

Omar nods. “I know. I just… didn’t think,” he swallows. “I wasn’t alone before.”

Understanding washes over the stranger’s face and after a moment, he extends his hand out toward Omar. “Pablo,” he says. “Who left you?”

“Omar.” Omar shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The man, Pablo, blinks, processing both the things that Omar said. Then, “You’re an Arab, dear lord.”

Omar is so surprised at his unexpected response that he laughs. “Don’t tell me the drag didn’t offend you, but the ethnicity did.”

Pablo shakes his head. “No, no, just surprised.”

Omar smiles. “Arabs can like Rocky Horror too.”

“Of course they can,” Pablo agrees. “Now, back to you being alone out here. I’m not letting you change the subject, even if it was me who brought up your ethnicity. What’s up?”

“No offense,” Omar says, thinking about whether he should share anything with this man. “But as I said before, I don’t really want to talk about it. Anyways, we just met, I’m not going to tell you my life story.”

“And why not?” Pablo asks. “Who better to share your problems with than a stranger at the bus stop?”

Omar thinks about this question. It’s probably highly idiotic to tell this man anything about himself. Omar doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know how old this man is (mid thirties?). He doesn’t even know if Pablo is this man’s real name. But still, Omar has no one to talk to, no one that even has the time or desire to listen to him, and Omar’s heart _hurts_ after the way Ander behaved tonight. It would do little harm to talk to this strange man. If nothing else, it’s not like Omar is ever going to see him again. “Well, fine,” Omar says after a moment. “What’s the harm, I guess?”

“There’s a good boy,” Pablo agrees.

Sighing, Omar starts telling Pablo about his parents, their religion, and their strict code of conduct. “I just… my parents would have never let me dress up like Frank-N-Furter. They’re first generation immigrants from the Middle East, I couldn’t even tell them I’m gay.”

“You’re gay?” Pablo asks.

“Yeah, man, keep up,” Omar says. He’s about to keep going, but he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He takes it out, sees that it’s Ander, and ends the call.

“Who’s that?” Pablo asks.

“No one,” Omar says quickly. Then, “My boyfriend.”

“Ah, the plot thickens.”

Omar nods. “Anyways they kicked me out--” he has to stop then because the bus arrives. Both he and Pablo get on the bus, which is empty at this time of the night. It’s very easy to find two seats next to each other.

“I’m going to Plaza Nueva,” Pablo says once the bus is rolling again. “I wanted to look down at the city, sitting by the fountain.”

“Oh,” Omar responds, he hasn’t gone to the Plaza in ages. He remembers liking it up there. There’s a big fountain and because the Plaza is on a hill, a beautiful view of the city. “Can I join you?”

Pablo nods.

During the bus ride, Omar continues with his story, telling Pablo about his parents kicking him out, about Ander’s mom letting him crash at their house, about the Halloween party. He gets two calls from Ander while the bus travels to Plaza Nueva, both of which he ignores. They get off at the stop for the Plaza and walk the few steps to the fountain. When they reach it, Pablo offers Omar a cigarette.

Omar takes it, sitting down on the side of the fountain and looking out toward the town. His phone vibrates in his pocket again, this time a text. Omar doesn’t read it, but he does stare at his phone for a few seconds, contemplating whether he should turn it off or not.

“You know,” Pablo says after a few minutes of silence. “It was hard for me too, when I came out.”

Omar is not at all surprised that this man is gay. What he’s surprised about is that it took him so long to say it. He puts his phone away without turning it off, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What was harder for me than coming out though, was trying to figure out who I was after it. Before I came out, I was afraid of what my friends and family would say, what they’d think if I acted gay in any way. I’d been suppressing my sexuality for so long because of this fear. And then I came out, no one really cared in the end but me. But I’d been afraid of myself for so long that when accepted who I was, I didn’t know what the hell to do or how to act.”

“What do you mean?” Omar asks.

“I started wearing fishnets and painting my nails,” Pablo says, taking a drag of his cigarette. “I would wear shorts and lipstick and go out. I mean there’s nothing wrong with that, but because I had just admitted to everyone that I was gay, I thought that that’s what was expected of me.”

Omar waits patiently for Pablo to continue.

“But I realized a little while later, when I felt tired and empty after dressing up in drag, that being gay doesn’t mean I have to go all out. It was all about balance. Now don’t get me wrong, I think drag is good now and then, but it’s definitely not something I would do all the time.”

Omar was not surprised when Pablo admitted to being gay, but he’s surprised that this tall, muscular and masculine man ever put on lipstick or did drag. When he says this to Pablo, Pablo laughs.

“Appearances can be misleading. Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that maybe your boyfriend is also trying to figure out his identity. Just like I was, just like you are.” Pablo looks Omar up and down, as if to emphasize the costume Omar is wearing.

And Omar… gets it. He gets what Pablo is saying about identity, he even gets that individuals have different experiences, even when they are of the same sexual orientation. He gets it but... “Do you think this is not me?”

“I don’t know, son,” Pablo says. As he says this, Omar’s phone begins to ring again. Omar ends the call once more. “That’s something you have to figure out for yourself. Maybe this is you, maybe it’s not. You won’t know unless you experiment.”

“Yeah but…” Omar stops, taking a few steadying breaths. “What if Ander leaves me while I’m discovering myself.” This is what he’s afraid of, in the end, that Ander will not love this version of him. That Ander will think that he’s changed, that he’s different, that Omar is no longer the boy he fell in love with.

As if on cue, Omar’s phone begins ringing again.

Pablo glances down towards Omar’s pocket pointedly. “If he loves you and he’s worth it, he won’t judge you for experimenting. Look I haven’t met your boyfriend, I don’t know what kind of a person he is. But… it seems to me that he cares a lot about you. It’s--” Pablo stops, checking his phone. “Three in the morning, and he’s been calling you non stop since the bus-stop. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be calling this much.”

“Yeah, but he also left me to fend for myself at the party.”

Pablo nods in agreement. “Look, Omar. From what you’ve told me about him, it seems like your boyfriend’s heart is in the right place. He’s young, just like you, and we both know what kind of culture we live in. You dressed up in drag, you put him in gold shorts. It was probably a culture shock for the poor bastard. Maybe he understands now that he made a mistake. I know it hurts now, but give him a chance to apologize, to show you he cares. If he turns out to be an asshole, then you can leave him.”

Omar shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can leave him.”

“That’s your problem, but for later,” Pablo takes a drag of his cigarette. “Go home. Deal with the now problem. Worry about the other one later.”

“Home…” Omar repeats. His phone buzzes with another text message.

“Yes, home,” Pablo says. “To the person who is clearly worried sick about you.”

Omar doesn’t want to go home--well, Ander’s home--but Pablo’s insistence wears down on him. Maybe it’s time for him to go back to Ander’s. The sun will be up soon anyways. He doesn’t have school tomorrow, but still, he should get to a bed and try to sleep.

“Fine.” Omar jumps down from the side of the fountain, drops his cigarette bud on the ground, and starts walking towards the bus stop. He’s only a few steps away when he realizes that if he leaves now, he’ll never see this strange man again. He turns back. “Do you have an instagram I can follow?”

Pablo shakes his head. “But I’ll give you my number, in case you need advice again.”

\--

It takes Omar another 40 minutes to get back to Ander’s house. By the time he opens the door and walks into the foyer, it’s past four.

The first thing Omar notices when he opens the door, taking care not to make too much noise, is that the kitchen light is on. The second thing he notices is Ander, sitting on a chair in the dining room, his forehead resting on his hands.

He looks up when Omar enters, eyes narrowing as he registers that he’s looking at Omar. His eyes are red rimmed and Omar sees that his hands are shaking.

Taking in the visible of state of worry Ander is in, Omar suddenly feels ashamed that he left Ander in the dark about where he was for so long. “Hey.”

Ander closes his eyes, taking a deep, slow breath through his nose. “Where the fuck have you been?” His voice is faint, gravely, but there’s anger there too.

“Out.” Omar shrugs.

Something flashes in Ander’s eyes as he opens them. “Out? It’s almost four-thirty!” He hisses.

“So?” Whatever guilt Omar had been feeling at keeping Ander in the dark dissipates at Ander’s anger. “Why do you care? It’s not like you gave a fuck what I was doing when you just _left me_ at Rebe’s_._”

Omar can see the physical force his words have on Ander and tries hard not to feel some sort of pleasure at it.

Ander leans back in his seat, as if slapped, and looks away. “Yeah… But I didn’t think you’d just go AWOL for the whole night…”

“Oh were you worried about me?” Omar asks, he’s starting to feel impatient, angry. How can Ander sit there and blame _him_ for not communicating, when Ander himself left the party without telling Omar anything. “Did you think about that when you decided I was too embarrassing to hang out with?”

Ander runs a hand over his face, dropping his head on them and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“I was worried about you,” he says, finally. “I was worried sick. You wouldn’t answer my calls, you didn’t come home, you were alone out in the streets in drag. If something had happened to you because I left you alone--”

“I guess you should have thought about that before you abandoned me,” Omar says and makes to go upstairs.

Ander rushes after him, grabbing his elbow and turning Omar around to face himself. “Omar…”

“What?”

He’s decidedly not looking at Ander’s eyes--he can’t or else he’ll give in--which is why he sees Ander swallow.

“What?” Omar repeats, more soft but with as much venom as he can muster, when Ander doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Ander says, voice breaking on the _sorry_. “I’m sorry, I acted like an ass. It’s just… this is new for me.” He takes a step back, gesturing at Omar’s outfit. “It’s new for you too. I was just… uncomfortable.”

“Then talk to me,” Omar says. “Tell me what’s wrong with you. Don’t abandon me after making me feel like garbage about my costume.”

Ander squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I thought I could handle it. It’s just that everyone was making fun of me, and I felt frustrated and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you… it wasn’t your fault. It’s just that I didn’t know what to do...”

Despite himself, Omar feels his anger lessen. He reaches out, grabbing Ander’s wrist, pulling him close so that he can rest his head on Omar’s shoulder.

“Your friends are dicks.”

Ander’s body shakes with something, relief? He wraps his arms around Omar’s waist and leans further into Omar’s embrace.

And now, Omar has to ask Ander the question that’s been bothering him all night, he has to do it before he can feel any relief. “Be honest,” he says. “Did I embarrass you tonight?”

It takes Ander way too long to answer, but when he does, at least he’s honest. “A little.”

Omar wanted honesty, but the words still hurt. “Do you want me to leave?” he asks, the second time in less than a month. “Am I suffocating you, do you want some space?”

Ander raises his head from Omar’s shoulder. “What? _No._” He’s shaking his head. “No, no. Absolutely not.”

Omar swallows, wanting to believe him, needing to believe him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure,” Ander says, nodding. “I never want you to leave, don’t be stupid.”

“Ok.”

Ander smiles at Omar’s answer, hesitant, hopeful. He takes a step forward, asking permission to place himself in Omar’s space again.

Omar grabs his shoulder and pulls him into a hug.

They hold each other, standing there in the kitchen at half past four in the morning. Omar thinks that he could stay like this forever. He doesn’t need sleep, not if he can have Ander like this for the rest of his life.

“Where were you?” Ander asks after some time.

“I went to Plaza Nueva.”

“Why?”

Omar thinks about how much of his night he should recount to Ander. “I met this guy,” Omar says and watches as Ander recoils from the embrace, eyes widening as he takes a step back. If Omar were petty and still angry, he would let Ander suffer with the thought of Omar finding some other guy. But Omar is not petty and hastens to reassure Ander. “Not like that, idiot. This older guy. He and I talked… about life.”

Ander takes another step back, looking shocked, scandalized even. “So you just went somewhere with a stranger? What if he’d been a serial killer?” he asks, voice rising, this time with concern.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking. All I knew was that I was upset, I was alone, and I didn’t feel like I could come back here.”

Omar watches Ander’s face crumble as he processes these words.

“Fuck,” Ander says, stepping into Omar’s space again, cradling his face and bringing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry. God, I’m an ass.”

Omar leans in, softly brushing his lips against Ander’s, feeling reassured because of Ander’s remorse. “Sometimes.”

“I’m sorry.” Ander drops his head onto Omar’s shoulder, digs his nose into the space where Omar’s neck meets his shoulder. Omar can feel Ander’s exhales against his skin. “I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Do you believe me?”

“Kind of,” Omar responds, then, “Mostly. I’m trying to believe you…” He stops, breathes. “Sorry for not answering your calls.”

“It’s ok,” comes Ander’s muffled response. “I deserved it.”

Omar smiles, though Ander can’t see it. “Just a little.”

They stand for what feels like hours until finally, Omar’s long day catches up with him and he yawns.

“Ander,” he says, pushing Ander out of his embrace.

“Hmm?” Ander’s eyes are closed, even as he takes a step back. He grabs Omar’s hand though, as if he can’t bear to lose contact.

“Let’s go to bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> got a prompt and it turned into a 4.5k fic idk how this happened
> 
> \--
> 
> This fic's working title was "Omar's Halloween night adventures, or where I say mean things about Ander for six pages." But then it was way longer than six pages and much more of an Omar-centric fic than anything else. 
> 
> And of course, I love Ander, the big dumbass, he was just very dumb in episode 5.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Hope you guys enjoyed it. Come yell at me about elite on [tumbr](https://waroftheposes.tumblr.com/).


End file.
